


Better than roses

by keepcalmanddonotblink, MashiarasDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Fluff, It is so fluffy, M/M, Roses, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepcalmanddonotblink/pseuds/keepcalmanddonotblink, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/pseuds/MashiarasDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><img/><br/>"Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you've caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the 'girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft' and I'm trying to figure out how to break it to you that we're on our way to a graveyard" AU<br/>Prompt for <a href="https://twitter.com/perdizzion">perdizzion</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/BOYKINGSAM">BOYKlNGSAM </a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better than roses

Dean doesn’t know much about flowers. He knows that they are pretty and that they smell nice. He can tell roses from tulips. He’s always thought that was the exact extent of gardening knowledge that his Mom managed to instill in him in the few years they’ve had together. He’s never thought there was anything to gardens or flowers that went deeper than that. That touched something inside him. Until he’s found this place, that is. 

Some construction made him take a detour and suddenly, there it was, at the end of Grace Lane. The most beautiful garden he’s ever seen. Waves of reds and pinks and purples, broken by swirls of light blues and sprinkled with dots of yellow. He’d stopped and stared, and when the intense smell of the hundreds of flowers hit him, he was suddenly four years old again, his small hands cramped tightly around a bunch of meadow flowers, presenting them to his Mom like they were the most precious thing in the world, and his Mom accepting them in the same earnest manner, her sparkling blue eyes brighter than the sun.

Abruptly, Dean shakes himself out of the memory. 

It won’t do to start crying now. He needs to be fast and he needs to stay on his guard. It’s not right maybe, doing what he is about to do, he could always buy roses at a supermarket somewhere. But the roses there are sad little creatures, smelling like plastic and water. The roses here have the color of fresh strawberries and carry the sweet fragrance of summer. And it’s not like he’s taking many. Just a few every so often. Just on days like this. 

He looks around to make sure that nobody is around, and then quickly cuts three of the biggest blooms. 

“This rose is a Wenlock.” 

The gravelly voice jolts Dean enough that he catches his finger on a thorn. He yelps and sucks on the cut to stop the flow of blood. 

The voice is unperturbed. “It is an English Rose with multilayered blooms and the strongest fragrance. It cost me a lot of work to make it grow and flower like this. If it grows too fast, the necks will become weak and break. And also, the West Coast is somewhat too wet for this variety. Wenlocks like the sun better than the rain.”

Finger still bleeding, heartrate too fast, Dean finally turns around to the source of the voice. Suit, tie, trench coat, apparently the guy just came home from work. Dean should have come by a little earlier. He swallows hard when his gaze hits the man’s face. It’s a good face, small laughter lines around the eyes showing that the guy is not usually sour, but right now, his eyes are icy and hard.

“I wonder now, what these roses that I have spent years cultivating, are doing in your hands.”

“Ummm,” Dean stutters and by the way his face burns, he’s probably about the same color as the rose by now. 

“You don’t look poor enough to have to resort to petty theft to get flowers for a girl. So you’re either doing this just because you can or because you know that my flowers are the best. Do you know anything about flowers, petty thief?”

“Umm, no,” Dean admits. “But the, umm, the girl, she does.”

“Aha! So you’re trying to impress her with my flowers then? Well, I must say I’m intrigued by that. She must have you wrapped around her little finger if you’re willing to risk the police just to get her a few roses.”

“The police?” Dean stammers, cold sweat breaking out. He hasn’t had a run in with the police in a while and he’s not keen on repeating the experience. He gets up slowly, trying not to provoke the other man into physically restraining him to call the police, while at the same time getting ready to run. 

But the man just stares at him and makes no move to block Dean’s exit way. “Hmm, I think no police for now. But I will need to make sure that she’s worth the damage to my plants. Yes. I really need to see it for myself whether she is _actually_ pretty enough to warrant flower theft. I’m coming with you on your date.” 

“What?” Dean starts because that is not what he’s expected. 

“You heard me. I’m coming on your date. I’m making sure my flowers have a worthy recipient. Come on, move along, flower thief.”

“Dude…” ‘I don’t have a girlfriend’ is what Dean wants to say but the man raises one eyebrow and the words die on Dean’s tongue. He has to work his mouth a few times to work enough saliva back into it to say more. “Alright,” he gives in, “come along then. But don’t blame me if this is going to be weird.”

“Shouldn’t you be more worried about your girlfriend thinking it weird?”

“Yeah, man, I… Whatever.” He shakes his head and then holds out his hand. “I’m Dean. And you _do_ have the loveliest flowers in your garden.” 

It’s supposed to be an apology of sorts, something to make the man’s mood a little more lenient, but he doesn’t expect the way the compliment lights up the other man. “I try,” he says with a bashful smile while he takes Dean’s hand, “Castiel. Or Cas. My name’s a mouthful, I know.”

“Cas it is,” Dean says but it’s an autopilot, because with the smile, the man’s features have rearranged themselves into something radiant and Dean’s mouth is dry again, for a different reason this time, and he has a hard time looking away. 

“Come on, you don’t want to leave her waiting,” Cas finally prompts, and Dean notices that he has been staring. And that he’s still holding the man’s hand. 

“Umm, sorry,” he quickly drops his hand. “We need to go this way.”

He leads the way quietly, not used to having company on the short walk from the garden – Cas’ garden he should say – to the cemetery. Sam sometimes comes with him when he’s in town, but for obvious reasons (Sam’s in pre-law after all) they’re not going via the garden then, they just take the Impala and drive straight there. 

“So, is it a special occasion or a normal date?” Cas breaks the silence. 

“Uhh, normal, I guess. I just – I missed her a lot today.” He cringes at the way his voice almost breaks on the sentence but it is the pure unadulterated truth. He was standing in line in his favorite bakery when suddenly ‘Hey Jude’ came on over the speakers. The smell of apple pie plus that song – he’d fled as fast as he could.

“That’s nice, having someone in your life that you love enough to miss them like this,” Cas says. 

The words are careful and measured but there’s a longing in Cas’ voice that makes Dean think that there’s no one like that in his life. He throws him a side-long glance and finds Cas looking back at him. They lock eyes for a moment, the intensity of the blue taking Dean by surprise. He stumbles and Cas quickly holds out a hand to steady him. Then he draws his hand back just as quickly, the spot where his hand was on Dean’s shoulder burning hot and then rapidly cooling back down. It is almost disappointing, how fast Cas’ body heat dissipates from Dean’s skin.

“So, your garden is your pride and joy?” Dean grasps for a topic to cover up the confused warmth spreading in his gut.

“It is,” Cas nods and the brilliant smile makes another appearance. “I started it for the bees, you know?”

“The bees?” 

“Yes. I like watching the bees. And they are very useful creatures. They have very complicated social structures, too, much more orderly than our human societies. And without them, there wouldn’t be enough food. We owe our lives to them.” It’s then that notices Dean’s smile at the passionate speech and his face falls. “You think I’m strange,” he states, expression closing off, like he’s been ridiculed too often in his life and will not subject himself to another bully. 

“No, man, I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s cool that you’re so involved. I’ve never really thought about bees too much, but I’m not a complete idiot. I know that they have a lot of environmental impact.”

Cas looks at him skeptically but then apparently decides to trust Dean’s words, because he nods and says quietly, “I just like to help when I can. I know it doesn’t make a big difference, my little garden. But at least the bees around here find some flowers that don’t have pesticides on them and won’t make them sick.” Then he suddenly smiles again, “Did you know that bees dance to show their friends where the honey is?”

“Bees really are your favorite animals, huh?” Dean smiles back. “And no, I’ve never heard about them dancing.”

“They are and they do. What about you?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Do I dance? Cause sometimes I do, what with all that yummy pollen out there.” 

Now that came out dirtier than he’d planned, and for a moment, Cas stares at him before he breaks out in laughter. “Well, for the record, I was asking about your favorite animal, but I’m sure your girl appreciates it. Though I’m not sure it works the same way for humans as it does for bees.”

“Well,” Dean smirks, “we could always try it out.” 

And fucking hell, why is he suddenly flirting? Because this guy’s laughter is contagious, his mind supplies helpfully, and Dean hasn’t had this much fun with a stranger in forever. And the fact that Cas has incredible blue eyes and slender fingers and Dean is pretty sure, a really nice chest and firm thighs hidden under that trench coat, is not a deterrent, either. 

“Umm,” Dean blushes when he notices that not only has his gaze drifted in the direction of the body parts he was thinking about, but also that he’s staring again, “or we could just keep walking. We’re almost there anyway.”

Cas jerks and looks around hectically, like he’s completely forgotten where he was. “Right. You’ve got a date.”

And is that – disappointment? Dean perks up a little at that. “Well.. actually... I... you know what, I'll introduce you to her and then we’ll see. It’s just over there.” He points in the direction and starts walking again.

“But the only thing that’s over here is – oh,” Cas says breathlessly while they’re coming to a halt in front of the iron gates. “You’re meeting your girlfriend at the cemetery?”

Dean chuckles softly. “No, Cas. You assumed I’m meeting my girlfriend. I never said that.”

“Your – boyfriend?” Cas asks, voice unsure.

“Cas, man, look around. Do you see anyone but us?”

“No?” Cas says hesitantly.

“Exactly,” Dean nods. “That’s because I don’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. But I am visiting someone. Come on, I’ll introduce you and you can decide for yourself whether she’s worth your flowers.”

When Cas seems too stunned to move, Dean grabs his hand and drags him along. Cas just lets it happen at first, stumbling after Dean, but a few minutes in, he’s got his feet back under him and he catches up to Dean, walking beside him again. He doesn’t let go, though. Instead he winds their fingers together. 

It feels good. Strange, very strange, but good. 

“You’re the first,” Dean blurts out and regrets it immediately.

“What?” Cas asks taken aback.

“Not the first as in, oh God, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant… the first who’s ever walked this path with me like that. Like, umm, holding my hand and stuff,” he stammers out, mortified. 

But Cas blessedly doesn’t make fun of him, he just holds onto Dean’s hand a little tighter. “That’s okay. I can be here for you.”

He says it simply, like it’s a truth that is hardly worth mentioning. Like it doesn’t turn Dean’s world upside down because Dean’s the one being there for others. Not the other way around. He’s almost glad that they’ve reached their destination now, that he has a reason not to answer that or even think about it. 

He lets go of Cas’ hand instead and kneels, taking the dry flowers out of the small vase next to the stone and putting the new flowers in. “Hey, Mom. I brought you flowers.”

There is movement next to him and the trench coat brushes his arm when Cas squats down next to him.

“Oh, but you should probably thank Cas here for them. They’re his, really. All the best flowers I bring you are his.” He lets his fingers glide over the small picture inset in the headstone. It’s black and white and doesn’t capture the vibrancy of his mother the same way his memories do, even though her face is sharper here, the edges not blurred by the years. 

Cas follows his gaze to the picture. 

It makes Dean snort a humorless laugh, because that’s why Cas is here, isn’t it? “And, what’s your verdict? Is she pretty enough to be worthy of your flowers?” He tries to make it sound sarcastic at least. But it doesn’t come out right. It just sounds broken and sad. 

Cas shakes his head unwillingly and he isn’t talking to Dean when he answers. “I have to apologize, Mrs. Winchester. I shouldn’t have made your son do this. My only excuse is that I didn’t know. But I’m not sure that that helps. Because I -,” and finally he turns towards Dean again, “I don’t regret coming with him and even with what I know now, I’d probably do it again.”

That coaxes a half- smile on Dean’s face. “Don’t worry, Cas. She’d like you. I wasn’t lying when I said she was a great gardener.”

“Well, she’s welcome to any flowers from my garden. So are you, Dean,” Cas says softly.

“Am I even fitting your criteria?” Dean flees into shallow flirtation to quench the emotions that want to well up in him.

But Cas doesn’t do him the favor to respond in kind. “Are you asking me whether I think you’re beautiful?”

Dean coughs so violently, he thinks he might just choke on his own spit, because that was most definitely not what he’d been asking. But somehow when he tries to word that, all that happens is that he chokes some more, so he stops trying to talk and just looks helplessly at Cas.

“Because the answer would be, yes, Dean, I think you’re beautiful. Your eyes have as many shades of green and gold as the birch trees in my garden when the afternoon sun hits them in September. Your hair is bleached like the reeds around my pond in summer,” his hand comes up to Dean’s hair while he’s talking and a smile creeps into his eyes, “and it’s softer than wind-blown grass.” His fingers move from Dean’s hair to the side of his face. “Your freckles stand out like dandelions on a meadow. And your lips…” 

He stops talking, just stares at Dean’s mouth, licks his own lips, and then looks up at Dean’s eyes, Dean, who’s breathless and charmed, held in place by Cas’ voice and Cas’ fingers on his skin. But his eyes dart to Cas’ lips, too, rosy and plush, already slightly parted. He nods his permission and Cas softly leans in. 

Dean’s eyes flutter close with the warm contact of soft lips on his, taste of strawberries and of Cas instantly intoxicating. His own hands come up around Cas’ neck, drawing him closer, deeper into kiss, the need to delve in, to explore, to figure out immediately flaring. He parts his lips, just enough to suck at Cas’ lower lip. The hitch in Cas’ breath would be worth it alone, but Cas also retaliates, licks along Dean’s lips, prompting him to open up and let him in, and Dean is not one to let strangers into his life, and he’s good at sex but he isn’t usually good at this, the level of intimacy somehow higher than if they were rutting against each other naked, but he still lets his lips part wider, invites Cas in without hesitation, and Cas doesn’t hesitate, either, just pushes in gently but determinedly and takes his time figuring Dean out. 

When they finally part, they’re both breathless, and Dean for his part is more than a bit dazed. He doesn’t have the will to hold himself upright or to draw back out of Cas’ personal space, and Cas doesn’t seem inclined to retreat, either, so they end up with their foreheads leaned together.

“And your lips are lovelier and sweeter than roses could ever be,” Cas whispers and the two of them are too close for Dean to see the smile but he can hear it and feel it.

“Stop it, Cas,” he mumbles, awkwardness winning the upper hand as the haze of the kiss retreats, “you’re talking in front of my Mom.”

And oh, right, they’re still on the cemetery. They draw apart with the thought, both of them chuckling sheepishly. 

Dean rubs his neck, suddenly self-conscious, and looks to his Mom’s picture and the roses and then back to Cas. “I, umm, I’d like to make it up to you. All the roses I stole. What do you say, burgers and beer, my place?” It comes out in a rush, nerves creeping in, because wow that had been a good kiss and he’d really like to do that again, but what if Cas doesn’t see it the same –

“I’d like that, Dean. I’d like that very much.”

Immediately, the smile threatens to split Dean’s face in half. “That’s good. That’s very good. How about right now?”

“You don’t want some time alone here first?” Cas asks with a nod towards the grave.

“No,” Dean smiles and shakes his head. “She got to meet you. Now I invite you on a date. It’s all good.”

“It’s a date, huh?” Cas smiles back.

“Yep,” Dean nods, “it’s a proper old-fashioned date.”

“Well, in that case, we need to go by my house again. I need to get you some flowers.”

**Author's Note:**

> That day, somewhere in Heaven, Mary Winchester looks down on Earth and smiles at the roses and her son and his future husband. Not that he knows that yet. It’s a story for another day to tell.


End file.
